Category: Music

O’er the Hills

The bell tolled low at the hilltop and slowly, the voices of the monks rose to the heavens in rolling waves from the monastery. They echoed over the hill and down the valley, tumbling through the rushes. The wind sighed, playing an accompaniment with the blades of overgrown grasses beating against each other softly; a susurrus of murmured hallelujahs.
The skies wept softly, joining in the instrumental as the pitter-patter of raindrops tickled the aural senses.

She stood there at the foot of the hill, red hair matted on her pale face, dull grey cloths moulded to her lithe frame, drenched in the rain; listening. Her nostrils widened, taking in the smell of the rich, damp earth. Her hands crept to her throat, eyes wide with wonder and shiny as they quivered with unshed tears. She swallowed soundlessly as the melodic humming washed over her.
Unthinking, she pushed one foot in front of the other, walking. Her bare feet dug into the wet ground, wet clomps of soil finding refuge in the spaces between her toes and in her toenails.
She trekked up the hill; stumbling but kept going, not saying a word, as if any sound from her would break the lightly woven magic.
Like a mage, without no gifts; the voices, her guiding star to where her musical Messiah would lay.
She knew no fatigue, her body knew no weariness. The sweet sounding harmony nourishing her limbs with strength when she faltered.

Suddenly, she panicked.
The nearer she walked to the monastery, the fainter the music got.
Her heart knocked in her chest hard.
She ran; her hands flailing as if trying to urge the singers to carry on, urging the music to stay.

She finally got to the old monastery and stood in front of the old wooden door, breathing hard.
The music had stopped.
She choked on a sob, her lips trembling as she struggled to contain herself. With shaking hands, she pushed at the wooden doors until they opened, a dark womb letting her in. She walked into the gloomy chapel, feet taking care to walk carefully, as if the slightest noise could…what?

It was empty.

Her vivid green eyes suddenly went wide.

Where…?

She let out a single gasp.
Her pale face turned sickly white and like a lone wilting rose, she swayed on her feet and ungracefully, fell, a crumpled heap of the dull and the damp.Her ears picked up faint footsteps and she tried in vain to get up, to see them.They came into her view, brown hooded figures, making a circle around her.
She stretched a hand weakly, help? a command to continue?
She stopped short.

Bones.
They had bones where flesh should be, peeking from beneath their robes.
Her thin mouth rounded in a feeble ‘O’.

Suddenly the singing began again.
She sighed and slowly, her eyes flickered to a close, eyelashes kissing each other.

One of the figures carried her gently and slowly, they all walked, disappearing like the early morning mist after the first rays of sunshine. Their music trembled faintly in the air after they had gone, like a whispered goodbye to a lover before it too, disappeared.

**************

Never go up the hill, the locals would caution their wide-eyed children.
‘Beware the music’, they would say in hushed tones. ‘Beware the hill, the snatcher of souls’.

The hill calls; the hill beckons.

Resist it…

Resist the music…

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This was written under the influence of this ——> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKtBpuLrI2s

THE CONDUCTOR

After much preparation it is time.
You take the stage with violin in hand.
The conductor faces you.
Eyes meet then she turns to the crowd, announces the symphony that is about to be played.
She turns back to face you.
Silence

You begin to play.
You’ve prepared for a long time.
You hope you have learnt from all the mistakes you made over the times.
You start to play.
The crowd watches.
They feel like its all perfect.
But the conductor knows; she knows what note is to come next.
They can’t truly see.
You’re nervous as you play the violin.
The conductor gestures away; frantically at high tempo upbeat parts,softly at low key parts.

She’s telling you what to do.
Even after all the practice, she still needs to show you.
Because she’s the conductor; he knows it, you play it.
The symphony is half done.
You’re getting it right.
Her face is still stern.
She does it to tell you half a success is none at all.
You keep playing.
You’re at the climax of the song.
That high part that gets the blood flowing fast.
You play with your mind and might at its peak.
Power and precision.

She smiles, the conductor smiles.
Its almost over.
You’re doing well thus far.
She’s happy with you.
The crowd doesn’t see; her back is turned to them.
But you know it is not over till its over; mind and body still sharp, you play frantically.
The symphony is almost at its end.
Just a few notes more, almost there.

It’s done.
You can’t look her in the face.
You know that she’s in charge.
You know she knows the music best.
You summon the courage to look at her.
She’s smiling, She’s happy.
You did it.
The crowd is applauding, but it doesn’t mean anything if she’s not smiling.
She is still smiling.
You are happy, she’s happy.

The crowd doesn’t understand.
But you both do.

————————————————————————————————————————

Happy Sabbath and good luck with guessing what this post is REALLY talking about 😉

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So it’s Monday and I know how we all love Mondays. Oh you didn’t get the memo? LOL. -_-
Yes, we love Mondays and I decided to write about something i tweeted last evening.

Disclaimer: Blame this shit on Caffeine.

So saw a Retweet about a Sex playlist and this shit struck me as funny. Apparently, some of you have songs you want to have sex to?
Really?
How does that work?
When do you put on the music or when is the right time to put on the music? I’m asking girls because guys don’t do that shit. (If you do, you’re gay, in which case, you’re a chic.)
Let me get this straight:
You and a dude all giggly and messing around, soon the play kisses get intense. You undress. Dude is ready to charge and you say “Hold on let me put on some music.”
Really??????
You now put on some gay ass song with a gay-ass singer (Hey Trey) singing about sex and that shit supposed to be romantic?
If I were a guy, my erection would die instantly. I mean why the hell would I want to listen to some guy telling me he wants me to touch his body?
Or is it R-Kelly? What if the song you put is the guy’s fave song and dude FUCKING STARTS TO SING AND TWERK INSTEAD OF GIVING YOU SOME!!!!? WTF IS THIS?!!
AN INDIAN PORN MOVIE?
Niggas be thrusting and shii and all of a sudden, a couple of other naked niggas appear and y’all break into a fucking dance. That’s what I think of when I hear ‘SEX PLAYLIST’.

How does that even work with quickies? Say he’s driving and suddenly feels the need to offload (It happens!). He parks the car and leads you into a bush.(It happens!) He’s tryna raise your skirt quickly because you’re wearing no underwear (IT BLOODY HAPPENS!) And all of a fucked-up sudden you say something like “Hold on, let me get my phone”
Mans would think you wanna put it off or something and you scroll to the Sex Playlist on your phone and click play?
If I was yo man, I’d leave your music-loving ass in that bush, walk to my car and drive off! I hope your music attracts some wild-ass animals to taste your MUSIC. LOVING. ASS! LET’S SEE HOW YOU’D LIKE THAT!
CRAP!

If I were to make up a sex playlist, I’d make it an Igbo traditional music. Have you heard the drums on them things? FAST!
I would expect the guy to pump in time or faster to that. Now THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.
But let’s be real, no sane guy would agree to shag to that cause his faggoty-ass don’t gat no rhythm!
That’s some hip-shaking music! That’s the way to conceive FUCKING CHAMPIONS! Hercules wasn’t conceived to bloody Akon singing ‘I just Had sex’ in the background!
If you ain’t gonna do some Igbo Heavy Metal, TURN THAT SHIT OFF!!!
Let us both scream and make our own music; well in my case, you scream in pain and I scream in laughter.

The only reasonable reason I see why you’d want to play music is so no one knows what you doing. In which case, I suggest you to just put on a bloody Christian song. But you wouldn’t would you? You can’t get your groove on with Akanchawa playing in the background can you? Because it would feel like Jesus is watching yo wide, naked ass, calling some next guy yo daddy. You dirry, dirry girl!
If you wanna mask the sound so bad, listen to Celine Dion. But is that possible? I mean one minute he’s pulling your hair the next y’all are hugging and crying, singing “Every night in my dream, I see you, I feel you…”
CRAP!

As I said in my tweet, If you have the time to put on music, the you really aren’t horny to be frank with your thirsty-ass self. I mean it’s a NEED! Your body is SHAKING! LIKE GRRRRRRRR AMMA GRIND THIS GUY TO THE GROUND! AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR MUSIC AT THIS POINT!
YOU THROW THAT NIGGA ON A WALL, YOU RIP THOSE CLOTHES OFF AND YOU BLOODY. GET. IT!!!!!
Maybe after the 15th or 16th round when his weak-ass is near death, then you can play some music to revive him, Nahwhamsaying??

If you REALLY insist on a song, I’ll recommend one. Ladies, this song would tell your man exactly what you want. I recommend this STRONGLY.

never foreplaycome on and tie me down – never foreplay (This right here is the bridge. THIS IS WHERE YOU GO FOR GOLD LIKE YOU IN DA OLYMPICS!)come on and fuck me hard – never foreplaycome on and suck me dry – never foreplay

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Hey.
Well today’s post is courtesy of an idea by @nosmaass_EFX.
Jaded mood so pardon me if I stop making sense. I’ll be writing on Music.

Those who know me know my favourite music genre is the almighty Rock and Roll. I love Rock.
Before, the opinion about Rock was all ‘OMG Demonic music’ Yada yada. I am not writing to disabuse you of that notion. Believe whatever the fuck you want.
I love Rock mostly for one this: Guitar solos.
A rock song is like a sacrifice. The worship builds up until the bridge where the guitar solo comes in. That is the highpoint for me; the point where the virgin’s head is cut off for sacrifice. The Crux!
Life fades way for me at that moment. My whole being is concentrated on extracting the nectar from what I am listening to.

Take a song like Sweet Child O’ Mine by Gunz’n’Roses. If you haven’t listened to this song, do. Old skool beauty. When Slash takes up the solo, I am lost.
I feel this crazy euphoria inside me. My heart pounds. My hands shake. My eyes become blurry with tears. My body unites and merges. In my head, I am the guitar and Slash is using his fingers on me. I rock to and fro, I hug myself. I try to dance but my legs feel too heavy. The rhythm weighs me down. I lay down and cover myself, praying for it to go on forever. This madness stops when Slash’s solo is over. Moments like these are the reasons I’ll forever adore Rock and Roll.
Another song Hysteria by Muse. The chorus gets me. Then the Solo. Lord Jesus, the solo! I have tears in my eyes EVERY TIME IT STARTS. I’ll probably go to a Muse concert with a box of tissues. I’ll bawl my eyes out. Lol. Listen to this song. Even if you don’t like Rock. Listen. You won’t regret.
Third song I’ll recommend for good guitar solo, Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch.
Solos touch something dormant in me. There is a garden of Eden inside us and beautiful music taps into that core. I feel like a baby after a particularly good song; incapable of hate. Of course it fades (because reality is shit) and I have to tap into it again and again.

Note, these songs are not Metal. I know Metal isn’t everyone’s cuppa so won’t go into it.

That is the beauty of Rock. There is something for everyone. The genre is so diverse, some sub-genres would soon become genres.

As much as I love Rock, I love other genres as well; Jazz, Old Funky tunes, Old Skool Head bobbing hip hop.

The thing with music is that I am attracted by instrumentals. Heavily.
I am not a lyrics person. Couldn’t care (most times) what is being said. I just want to immerse myself in the melody; the harmony. The discordant arrangements of music that somehow manages to blend in the ears.
It’s all about the background music to me. In fact, I do think the singers are the background noise; they’re the accompaniment. They can shut up and the song would still be as beautiful.

My music list is a weird mix: Death Metal bands like Kalmah, vying for space with James Brown, Elvis Presley and Tom Jones.

I was going to talk about how Music acts as a spiritual gateway for summoning celestial beings but I doubt you wanna know about that…or If I wanna write about it just yet.

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It’s exactly 3am in the morning and I am here, sneezing and pecking at my laptop keys I was going to put up a story today but decided against it. Been on my Facebook page for reasons unknown to man and stumbled on a funy post i did a long while ago. Decided to erase my old answers and put up a new one.

The instruction : Put your iPod on shuffle and for each question, get a song and write it down. No cheating. Here we go1

1) IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Better than me -Hinder

2) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Why am I the one- Fun

3) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL
Criminal -Disturbed (God forbid yo!)

4) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
I don’t Care – Apocalyptica / Adam Gontier

5) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE??
Torn – Natalie Imbruglia (Hia!)

6) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Oblivion – 30 seconds to Mars

7) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
The World’s Greatest- R Kelly (Yes, I still have this song and YES I AM THE GREATEST!)

8) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Dirty Little Secret – All American Rejects (Lol. Lips sealed)

9) WHAT IS 2+2?
Open and Close – EFA (LOL!)

10) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
The Devil’s Own – 5Finger Death Punch (:'( )

11) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Tie me down and Fuck me hard – Concentus (*dies* LOOOL! TRUTH!!!!!! ^_^)

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This isn’t a story; a musing of some sort.
Listening to Disappear by Hoobastank and my eyes are suddenly becoming teary. No, I am not sad. Wistful.
The first time i heard this song, I was about 15 and it was on Rickdees.
I still remember how reality faded as I listened to the lyrics.“Do you know that every time your near, everybody else is far away?”
No, i wasn’t a teenager in love. I had no love then but these words moved me.
I remember i recorded the song. I’ll sit in my room, phone in hand, listening to Disappear. Hot Sunday afternoon, aunt in the kitchen screaming my name. I would hear no one.“Make them disappear. Make them disappear!”
I would mutter these words like a mantra.
Make them disappear.
I love it when songs have these kinds of effect on me.
Another song that reminds me of these teenage years, Sugar We’re going down by Fall Out Boy.
This was more jaunty. I would kick my feet in the air and do an air tap dance to the beats.
My aunt would come in and switch off the radio and order me into the kitchen. I just pilfer her phone and I am back on Rickdees.

The Reason by Hoobastank would come on and I’ll find myself crying. Again, i didn’t have a love or some broken relationship. There was just this sadness i could detect in the lyrics.“I’ve found a reason for me, to change who i used to be. A reason to start over now. And the reason is you”
Yes, i used to tell myself that if i eventually had a boyfriend and he hurt me, if he sang this song to me, I’ll forgive him. Not sure about that now; might still be the same. Or not.

Another one was Photograph by Nickleback. This, i first heard with my dad. One of the few memories i remember of him listening to a song with me in silence. Normally, he’ll switch it to something else. When the song ended, heard him murmuring “Good bye, good bye” and i had a funny smile on my face.
It was cute.
This song also touched me because I always had this fear of leaving my classmates after school. And this song was about reminiscing on old days.
Funny thing is i am listening to it now and remembering old school days. My friends and I would listen faithfully to the radio, waiting for whatever rock song got played. We’d write it down and come to class, singing and making up out own words.
Children of the Radio. Faithful to the stereo.
We never eve touched that dial.
Ah.
Disappear is playing again.
I should sleep.

His ochre skin glistened with sweat as he thrust into her, over and over. She arched her back into him, crying furiously as he took her. She wrapped her hand around his neck and squeezed, her wiry fingers compressing his windpipe with unnatural strength. Her eyes were sad, but they shone with a preternatural light as his thrusts intensified with the tightening of her fingers. He began to gasp as her body began to spasm under him and he buried himself deep into her, his outstretched arms rested on flat palms on either side of her face. In a mindless lust filled haze, she bucked and was rewarded with a resounding snap. His head lolled and his arms gave way, his naked body collapsing onto hers. She wrapped her hands around his torso and cried softly, the relief of taking a life washing over her, silently savouring the warmth leave his body and the gentle weight that slowly grew on her as his blood stopped to flow and his limbs turned to lead.

It took ten minutes for his body to transmute from healthy ochre to a sickly ash and she laid under him through it all, arms wrapped around his neck, legs spread beneath him. With some effort she crawled out from under him, the smell of death upon her. It is just as it should be, she thought to herself, walking through the dimly lit belfry towards the little square of light cast by the moon through the stained glass window. The kaleidoscope of colours bathed her pale skin in the glorious hues, a mockery of the blackness she was inside. Her youthful skin, milky white in spite of the years she spent in the desert sun, playing away the beautiful concertos that she had longed to play in the darkened halls with beautiful high ceilings. Her breasts blue and yellow from the light cast by the robes and cherubic face of the Christ child, they had stayed small as they were when He first fondled them in that back alley, when he made her spirit soar and her skin flush with light and her womb bloom with his seed. Her flat belly was the cream of the sheep that lay beside the manger, the fertile pudgy sheep that bowed its head in adoration of the child. Hers would never rise, never. He’d taken that from her because she took his seed away from him. The only thing that continued to thrive was her raven hair falling to her plump buttocks, hiding the scars of her trysts with Him as He prod her over and over, every season she sook him out to lay with her. He’d obliged her each time, but he forbade her to look upon his beautiful face, bent her over and took her, sinking his claws into the small of her back and raking deep gouges that took a year to heal. He thought he was punishing her, but she knew better, he was the only one who could hurt her and pain was better than the numbness she felt.

He would ask her to play for Him wherever they met, in a crowded market or a dingy slum or an upscale hotel. It never mattered to him how many would die after. It never did.

“I have missed my violin, Tana.” He would say. “Play me a little piece? I want to hear if he has been tuned and oiled like you promised.”

She would play, from mournful to joyous, from jubilant to brooding, astute to languid, and they paused where the music carried. Young, old, beautiful, juvenile; it didn’t matter to Tana Brooks’ violin. They would stop in their tracks and gather around her, transfixed by the sounds her bow wrought. He would disappear into the mist as he always did, smiling at his creation. She would play as long as they wished her to, minutes, hours, even days. She would tap out melodies that reminded suited business men of their childhood dancing to folk songs and they would dance in helpless abandon while she cried for now she was so in tune with the violin she could see the deaths that would come for them. Eventually they would all get sated with her and as a swarm they would disappear to their deaths and leave her with the burden of being judge and executioner. And she would disappear until, her scars healed and compulsion drew her to seek Belial again.

“Doh! Doh! Doh!” came the melodious whisper from the aged piano in the corner. Tana shook herself from her reverie and noticed the light was much stronger now; she had stood there for hours. She turned to the sound and a smile parted her lips. Ashy and stiff, he perched naked on the tiny stool that faithfully stood beside the crumbling piano hidden in the darkened corner of the room, his frozen fingers picking notes of a child’s lullaby. His neck jutted out an angle and his glassy eyes stared into the dark but he didn’t need to see the keys to play. She stood in the light and watched in awe as his skin regained its lustre and his joints became fluid once again, his neck slowly inching its way back up, righting his head full of curly hair. She saw it every other night, but each time he rose from where they had coupled and healed, it awed her over again. He turned his now straight head at her and smiled ruefully, seguing from the jaunty march he had been playing into a languid waltz. Play with me, his eyes pleaded.

Tana picked her violin from where she’d laid it by the window sill and tightened the frogs. She tested a few notes ensuring her notes rang true to his, and plunged herself into the music; following his lead, complementing his dips and shoring the silences between his transitions. They played so beautifully, two angels of death, harbingers of doom, cursed by their chance meetings with Lilith and Belial to wreak death in all they did. She played the half tones that her heart had longed to sing and the dirges she couldn’t play at the funerals of all the people she’d loved from afar and watched slip into darkness and he played the grand hymns he had dreamed of subsuming himself in at the cathedral where he had grown up, on the colossus of an organ behind which he had prayed for eighteen years tightening screws and waiting for his turn to glory in its melodies. Lilith found him and cursed his eyes to stay forever open and his hands to freeze in death each time he ever played for another’s entertainment, she’d taken all he cared for away from him on a petulant whim. She was his salvation and he her companion, the perfect waltz, the girl on the violin and the boy on the piano.

——————————————————————–

This piece was written in 45 minutes as an imagined sequel to the epic Girl On The Violin (read it here) set to the haunting song In the End by Vanessa Carlton. Our boy on the piano is none other than Johnny Depp. I hope I did justice to Tana Brooks. Shalom.

Happy Short story day Africa! In honor of today’s celebrations, I decided to try a challenge, I put my phone of shuffle and wrote flash fiction around the themes of the first four songs that played. (Scout’s honor, I didn’t cheat, lol). So here are the stories, 120 words or less.

Come Away With Me – Norah Jones

I’ll sit by the last stoop, and wait. I won’t mind the rain that trickles and turns my hair into droopy strings or the cold that makes my bones chatter, and wait. I’ll keep my eyes away from the beautiful horizon filled with grey clouds that glow and flash with lightning and keep my eyes on the muddy path, and wait. I’ll notice the shoes that splatters mud on the other travellers and then the pants, glued to beautiful legs by the rivulets of rain water, the outline of shoulders and your frantic eyes looking out for me, and I’ll smile. I will elope, with no one but you.

Love Will Tear Us Apart – Nerina Pallot.

Our bed holds no warmth, my pillow is soaked with tears. You sleep so soundly, I’m a little envious. How do you sleep through my crying every night? The baby’s sniffling in the other room but I can’t hear him. What have you done to me? What have you turned me into? I clutch my pillow over my face and sob. You stir and turn towards me, and then you sigh when you see me crying. You leave the bed and walk to the other room to comfort your child. Your child, because post-partum depression has robbed me of the joy of being a mother.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday – Paramore

They’re all running, left, right, jumping across the gutters away from the tarred road. I want to follow but my legs are too short. Mama always used to help me across but now I can’t find her. I start to run along the street, there’s a plank down the road that I can use to cross. I can hear sirens but I don’t know where its coming from. Where’s mama? Mama oh, where are you? Boom! Gun! Oh God! Mama? Mama? I’m almost at the plank. Thank God! I start crossing and stop when I see it. Not an it, a him, inside the gutter, bent over with blood all over his shirt. I scream!

There for you – Flyleaf

What is she doing here? How did this happen under our noses? The nurse leading us to the room whispers that we shouldn’t be afraid, everyone here is under the appropriate drugs, they won’t harm us. She looks so knowledgable in her white shift, not like our check pinafores that single us out as amateur nursing students. Still I can’t help shuddering when they look at me from the small windows in their doors, and feeling bad that I think of them as less than human. She opens the door and points to the bald thing curled up in the corner of the room.
“That’s your friend.” She says.

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Hello Humanity!
This is not a story. As if i had to say that.
I like celebrating the achievements of my family and today is another ‘Aren’t We Awesome?’ day.
My brother started a Neo-Jazz-Hiphop band. Yeah that’s what i call it. So yeah, he started this with his friends late last year. They call themselves Psylus.
Whatever that means.
I watched and listened to their recordings few days ago and i was totally impressed!

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For the thirteenth time, I replay the song, allowing the melody, wash over me like a refreshing shower of rain. With every high note the singer hits, my mind sways. It has to be done. Its my only way forward. My only way to break away.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody.
I’m not free.

“You’re nobody and you’re not free, to sacrifice yourself to hope, to escape…”

I’ve tried.
My life so far has been nothing but a pawn in a badly played chess game in the incompetent hands of whatever Being bored enough to play with me.
My mother died birthing me.
I had no father; at least that was what my birth certificate said.
I was called Chioma. By whom, I have no idea.
Good God.
Was He? Was He really?
The only family I knew were other children, lost as I was in a world we had no business being in. Victims of circumstances. At least I was not abandoned in a bin. This I told myself, nights after the older children bullied me. I had someone. She only died. Ah. I was young then. I had nothing. She would have thrown me away like other young mothers, given the chance. I didn’t have a father after all. Who wants a child with no father in this society?
I was the quiet one. The weak one. The one that cried at every little thing. The ugly one. The slow one. The dumb one. Our minders said it was a harsh world out there. It was hard to imagine then, considering the fact that life in the orphanage was terrible.
Harsh world out there. I had been thrown into that harsh world. I turned eighteen and was therefore an adult.
I cannot escape it.
Other younger ones envied me.You’d be free.
No I wouldn’t.
I’m nobody.
I have no voice.
I’m a stranger in my own land.

“Nobody is your name, in an eternal search of a meaning that would fade soon…”

Have you any ambitions? What do you have in mind?
I stared at the Matron.Yes, yes I do. I want to be a scholar. I want to get a degree. I want to be a historian. I want to be everything I read in books and see in the occasional movies.
Of course I did not say it aloud.
I’d have been laughed at.You barely passed JSCE. You have no WAEC result to speak of. A scholar? Pah! You’re not smart. An apprenticeship is what you should aim for.
I knew I wasn’t smart but she asked what I had in mind didn’t she?

“In a weird slavery, with a book in your hands and a lot of ideas in your head that you can shout in the wind but you’re Nobody and nobody will hear you…”

An apprentice at a hairdressing salon is what I’ve become. You’re lucky to be here. This is just a favour to your Matron.Watch and learn the trade, my Madam told me. I watch people with lives come in. They nag about jobs, school, husbands. I watch in my little corner, in my old okirika clothes, hanging off my thin frame. No one pays me any attention. I’m not taught anything. The others are. I have no natural abilities like they do. Their hands can move at unnatural speeds while my hand works are sloppy at best. Nobody wants me near them. You smell. They’d turn their nose up at me. I’m That girl. I have no name. I’m nobody.

“You’re nobody and you’ll be alone till your future won’t be written ’cause you smell of stranger in your own land”

It’s a Sunday and my Madam and her children are gone to church. I stumbled upon her son’s listening device. I press a random button and the song comes on.
I’ve been sitting here for a long while, on the floor of his dirty bedroom, listening to the woman speak to me.
I have done nothing today.
My madam would be vexed.
It wouldn’t matter anyway.
Slowly, I get up, shaking off the cramps in my legs.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody but I will be free.

————————————————————-

Madam came home to meet their house help, Chioma, hanging from a badly tied noose in the living room. She let out a surprised yelp, quickly shepherding her children out of the house before they saw her. “Call the driver” she instructed her eldest son, going back to the living room.

She looked at the tongue protruding from an ugly face she had always tolerated barely. She sighed in revulsion

“Stupid girl”

End.

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Phantom: I had not planned on writing anything new for a while but this song (Nobody-Ravenscry) was driving me insane. I feared I’d do something stupid if I didn’t write something down. Pardon me if it is less than satisfactory. Therapeutic writing I’m afraid.